Gone
by live0laugh0love0
Summary: It's been six months since her life changed. She goes through the motions day after day, trying as hard as she can to find a rhythm, know structure, have a life. But as hard as she tries, her efforts are no match for the blow that the tragedy dealt her.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi there! **

**This is just a one shot based completely on Beckett. Set somewhere in season 5 or 6, nothing Completely specific. And since it is a one shot, let me know if you want more like this, or if I should have a story feed that is just one shots, prompts provided by readers. It would be much appreciated!**

**Enjoy!**

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It's been six months since her life changed. She goes through the motions day after day, trying as hard as she can to find a rhythm, know structure, have a life. But as hard as she tries, her efforts are no match for the blow that the tragedy dealt her. Now, all she can do is pick up the shattered pieces of her world and carry on; but you can never pick up every single piece. She's like a plane on autopilot. She starts at point a and ends at point b. She knows the road she's traveling, but never the destination. She somehow arrives where she needs to be, one way or another.

Anything and everything that was comfortable, that she grew to know as normal, has been stolen from her, ripped from her grasp. It's not fair; one minute she's happy, the next, she's hit with news of twisted metal, squealing tires, blood loss, unconsciousness, flat line. The blink of an eye and it happened like that. It didn't care that she was happy. It didn't care that she was in love. It had no sense of emotion or loss or hurt. It was time, and time rules the world and it's people.

She's numb and blind. Numb to feeling and feelings. Numb to her own thoughts. Numb to coming to terms. She's blind to the world around her, what's happening, and who's trying to get to her. She's blind to his family. She's too terrified to look at them, hear them; they're too much like him. She's blind as she walks down the street, the newspapers, magazines, and bookstores still plastering him everywhere. She turns her head. They have no right to grieve, they didn't know him, they didn't really care about him. She can't even feel bad for anyone else because she can't even deal with her own grief. She's numb and blind; it's the new normal, it's comfortable.

As much as she hates seeing him in public, the world thinking they deserve to mourn, she keeps his picture hidden in her apartment. They're candids if him that she had taken in the loft. They were once just silly snaps of him that now meant so much to her. There's one on the coffee table, one under her pillow, and one hidden in her desk drawer, all face down. When she's feeling brave, she'll lift the corner to reveal parts of him. The paper is worn by now, this action having taken it's toll. Then, she'll flip it all the way over and hold it with both hands, looking at his smiling face, his beautiful eyes. She runs her finger of his face, wishing so desperately that he was there with her, that she could see him in the flesh. But she knows she's being unrealistic, so she stares at the picture trying to remember the good times and laughter, not his last moments. But trying to remember the good leads her to the bad. Did he suffer? Was it painful? Did he think of her? That's when she flips the picture back over, returning it to its upside down position, not wanting to think about it anymore.

The pain in her chest never really goes away. It's there, always. Like a hollowness of her entire body, with a flaming center. It's the only way she knows how to describe it. She can ignore it during the day. With the distractions of working and interacting, surrounded by people that give her concerned glances and words of understanding. The spark is gone, though. The job gets done, but the feeling of accomplishment and triumph of doing what she does best have long since left her body. Without her partner in crime, what's the point?

The pain is the worst when she is alone. As soon as her key fits into the lock of her own, quiet apartment, the pain nearly suffocates her. It takes everything she has to make it into her home, her fortress, her walls. It's not until she has reached the bedroom that she lets it completely consumer her. It hits her like a brick wall, nearly knocking her on her ass. It's hard for her to stand sometimes, so she sits on the floor, knees to her chest, to try and smother it, but nothing really helps. She screams and cries, pounding her fists into the ground and shoving pillows in her face to muffle the sound. She knows her neighbors hear her but her sense of self pride vanished with the rest of her a long time ago.

By the time she wills herself to stand, she's exhausted. Her throat hurts and her eyes are puffy. Her body tingles from curling in on itself. She stands and walks to the kitchen, knowing she has to eat something. It's never anything more than a handful of dry cereal or something delivered. She loses her appetite as soon as she starts to think about him again.

She lays in bed at night too exhausted to cry any more. She clutches one of his old T-shirts, willing her nose to pick up on his scent. She has three left that she's kept tucked in his drawer. Only three. The rest have long since lost him, just like she has. Once those last three shirts leave that drawer, in her eyes, he's gone forever. Her body relaxes, but that's when her brain finally turns on and leaves her sleepless night after night. She never really knows what she's thinking about. It's a jumble of memories, confusion, and anxiety. She drifts in and out of unconsciousness, and that's when the nightmares start. She used to dream of him every night, and for a long while. She enjoyed sleeping, just so she could see his face, hear his voice, know that he was once something concrete. Now, his appearance is less frequent, accompanied by a crash. He'll yell for her to help him, but no matter how hard she tries, her feet are cemented into the ground, preventing her from even trying.

It leaves her gasping for air. Her heart broken all over again. There's nothing she can do, and that kills her. She's swarmed with guilt, then, thinking about what she could have done. What she didn't do. She wasn't on the scene, she could have been with him. She hadn't given him an extra kiss before leaving that day, she could have told him how much she loved him. She let him leave without an extra cup of coffee, it could have been avoided. And she was unaware. Nothing could have warned her that this would happen, but she curses the world for not giving her some sort of sign, one that she would understand, and insist that he not leave the loft today. And if that would have happened, she would be happy, and he would be alive.

She is struck, though, with something she's never truly felt before; fear. Yes, she has been scared, antsy, uneasy, but she has never truly felt fear until now. Fear that she will never be the same. Fear that she will never know herself like she did before. Fear that she will forget everything that he was, everything that he embodied, everything that made him, him, and her, her. Everything that was them. Fear that she will never return from the state she's currently trapped in, that she will never know how to live without him. She knows she can function, or she wouldn't be in so much pain. But she doesn't feel normal, and she doesn't know if she will, or if she even wants to.

Because he's gone, and he's never coming back.

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**xoxo**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi there!**

**I know I said this was a one shot, but I couldn't resist. I think I'm going to continue as long as I know how I want the characters to react. Once this particular point of view is finished, I may flip it and start again.**

**Thank you for your reviews, and please let me know what you think, and if you have any one shot ideas you would like to see written. **

**Enjoy!**

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She's feeling brave today. Braver than she has in a long time. She doesn't know if it's time taking it's toll, forcing her to move on against her will. Or if it's just her, becoming more insanely lonely, longing for anything that brings him close to her, reminds her he was once with her, that she could touch him and he wouldn't disappear. She shrugs her thoughts off, rolling her shoulders.

It's late in the afternoon, work long since ending, and the street lights are buzzing. She made it back to her apartment, the key in the lock, the walk to her bedroom. She sat on the floor, she closed her eyes, she breathed. It was then that she realized it was one of those nights. It had only happened twice before; once during the days following the funeral, and another about three months ago when she thought she was strong enough, thinking she was fine. She had become cocky, letting arrogance cloud her senses, thinking she had power over her emotions. Both had had terrible endings, the worst nights she'd had. Those nights were filled with the the worst nightmares she could have imagined. They suffocated her, made her head pound, nearly exploding. The screams and grinding of metal, the pools of blood. She never saw his body, never knew if she was actually dreaming of him. But something in the back of her mind told her it was him, and it was truly terrifying. She had woken up screaming bloody murder, her throat raw. The sobs that followed were so intense she had dry heaved and vomited. Besides that very first night following the accident, they were the worst nights of her entire life.

The first night, she had hailed a cab, too drunk to drive, and stumbled to her destination. It wasn't until she placed her hand on the stone that she realized what she had done. She had jolted backwards, falling to the ground, not breaking eye contact with the granite piece of living hell that now controlled her life. And so she retreated back to her apartment, uneasy and scared, drinking more, fuzzying the memory, but never removing it completely. She drifted off soon after on the couch where she had the nightmare for the first time.

The first step was acceptance. She didn't want to accept it. It was selfish of her to think this way. But why should she have to accept something so life altering, so devastating? It wasn't like there was a rule book pertaining to loss, to pain, to heartache. She couldn't flip through pages upon pages, know what to do next, and do it. It wasn't that easy. She had tried for so long to find some sort if logical reasoning, something that was follow the rules easy, the way she liked it. But no matter how hard she tried, it only made things harder, more difficult to understand.

And that's when she had this feeling for the second time. It was mid day, in the middle of her shift, when she came to the realization that she couldn't do this one by the book. She had to face this head on and try to be strong. She drove herself this time, in her squad car. She was alone, no one in the passenger seat, no one having sat there in three months. When she finally arrived, confident and determined, she walked straight to it, read it, walked around it. She thought she was doing okay, until a car honked somewhere beyond her sight, and it's tires squealed. Then, she had gone into full panic mode, nothing of her previous demeanor remaining. She stepped backwards, turned, and ran for her car. She didn't return to work, instead, she drove straight home, and crumbled onto her bed, grabbing one of his shirts. She had cried herself to sleep and woke up in the middle of the night, the images once again filling the far reaches of her mind.

But she knew she had to follow her gut. This feeling inside of her pushing her to go, drawing her to that place. If she didn't, she would regret it, and the guilt would eat away at her until it sent her to places she hoped she had long since drug herself out of. She was lying to herself, though, as much as she denied it, hoping she was getting better. She was stuck in this place, and the only thing that could bring her out was him, and he was gone. But if she didn't go through with this, she would only fall deeper.

So she settled it with herself. She had to make the move before she talked herself out if it, before logical thinking could tell her this was not a good idea. If previous experience was any indication, she would think twice, but she was heart broken, and logical thinking is strangled by spontaneous gestures. She picked up the keys and left the safety of her apartment, her walls, to visit him.

She drove the fifteen minutes to the cemetery, the light in the sky growing dimmer. She drove in a daze, her awareness lowered, and her senses dulled. She couldn't believe she was doing this; but three times a charm, and maybe her emotions could finally stay in tact, maybe she could control herself, maybe she could begin to heal.

She parks a long way away, needing time to mentally prepare herself. It's been three months since she's done this. Six long, agonizing months since she's last seen him, heard his voice, touched his face. The path is long, his plot on a small hill, just high enough that you can see parts of the city below, if it weren't such a horrid, haunting place and circumstance, it would have been picture perfect. She walks thirty paces and stops. She breathes in and let's it out slowly. She still has 15 more paces. It takes everything in her not to turn and run. Run from this stupid idea, run from the pain, run from him.

She realizes that she can't do that anymore. She's avoiding him, he would be so hurt, crushed to know that the women that he loves, loved, so much, had never come.

But she had tried, and it hurt her so bad, bad enough that she was shaken to her very core, the core that she had hardened and reinforced and sturdied. So she reasoned with herself that he would have understood; because that's the kind of man he was, understanding.

So she took the remaining 15 paces, until she was face to face with that infamous granite stone from living hell. She stood in silence for a long time, the only sound were the crickets, the city just far enough away that it was quiet. She read and reread the stone.

"Richard Edgar Alexander Rodgers Castle  
1969-2015  
Loved, Always"

The words etched into her brain, she moved closer. She breathed in again before sitting down. She crossed her legs, and bit the inside of her lip, trying not to cry. Instead, she looked up to the sky, darkness starting to descend. "I miss you so much. I never expected it to be so hard." She stopped. The tears spilling out. She gathered her hair in her hands and rested her elbows on her knees. "I just want to be okay again. But I'm never going to be okay. Not without you." Her eyes moved to the stone now. "Why did you have to get in that damn car? Why couldn't you have stayed at home? I would still have you here. I'm so sorry I didn't stop you. Why didn't I stop you? You hadn't had a second cup of coffee that day. I hadn't kissed you a second time like normal. I hadn't been able to say goodbye. I'm so sorry. I lay in bed every night thinking of what I could have done to stop you. God I could have done something, but I didn't. I didn't, and now you're gone. And I'm so afraid that one day I'm going to wake up and I'm not going to remember you, your smell, your voice, your laugh. It kills me. Oh my God it hurts so bad, Rick. I miss you more than you will ever know. I love you so much." She let it all spill out, for the first time, letting it all tumble out into the open, where the only things around her were stones and air.

She wiped her eyes, making room for the fresh round of tears that poured out. She reached out and placed her finger tips on his stone. It was freezing cold, life less, revolting. She drew back, and stood up, looking at it from a different angle. It was beautiful. She hated herself for even thinking it. There was nothing beautiful about death, nothing that could even begin to justify what it did to people, how it completely destroyed them. But his stone had been designed to embody him. It was large and elaborate, of course, the writing scroll like, the corners sharp and neat, much like a book. At the bottom was a portrait of him, the one on the back of all his book jackets. The grin on his face had always made her smile. She bent down, kissed the top, and turned. She walked away and didn't look back.

She returned to her apartment, her appetite having long been gone. Her only priority was getting into bed, and wrapping herself in his T-shirt. She couldn't bring herself to open the drawer, so she made do with the one she already had. She curled herself into a ball, pulling the covers around her ears, leaving her nose stick out. She shut her eyes tight, and tried breathing normally, but nothing could stop the tears.

She let them fall silently, too tired to scream. Sleep in her near future, there was nothing she could do. She waited for the nightmare to engulf her for the third time.

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**xoxo**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi there! **

**Thank you for reviewing, favoriting and following. Here's chapter three. There will be at most three more chapters. If you have any story or one shot ideas, please feel free to message me, I love writing new things! **

**Enjoy!**

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It still stings. The ache in her heart controls every aspect of every day. She's developed chronic headaches, her thoughts never slowing, always changing. Aspirin won't even cut it. The bags under her eyes only showing half of the sleepless nights and endless crying. She's lost weight. She's down to two of his shirts. The numbness is the only thing that gets her out of bed every morning. If it weren't for the loss of feeling, the absence of warmth and sentiment and emotion, she would have lost herself physically as well. Her emotions have long since disembodied themselves. She had made such progress, turning herself into someone new, someone who was happy and liberated of the past. But that had all disappeared in the blink of an eye, one millisecond, one wrong judgement. The walls had been rebuilt in the blink of an eye, taller and stronger and thicker than before.

It's been a month since the nightmare. It had taken advantage of the darkness and of the sadness, swarming her thoughts. It was the worst one yet; everything that she had seen before was magnified. The sounds and sights were louder and brighter. And although she had seen it all before, was preparing herself for it as she drifted into unconsciousness, nothing could provide her with what she needed to handle the images.

The worst part, though, was when she was starting to come to. She knew the nightmare was coming to an end, knew the ending like the back of her hand, but as it ended, she couldn't pull herself out of sleep, the pull too strong. She could hear herself screaming out, could feel her fingernails digging into the sheets, but her eyes just wouldn't open. As hard as she tried, she couldn't slip from the grasps of sleep. Finally, she had shot up, sweat covering her skin, hair in her face, and tears pouring from her bloodshot eyes. It had seemed so real. Every small detail was engrained into her head, and it played it self over and over making her relive it, making it that much worse each time.

Since then, she had gotten worse, and she knew it, yet she had no motivation to change or try. Crawling out of bed and throwing on any piece of clothing that wasn't dirty was a major accomplishment. She once took time and put effort into her attire. Feeling professional made the job that much more appealing. It was once something she had taken pride in, once. The job had meant so much. Now, she was lucky not to wear the same blouse three times a week. She no longer did her hair or makeup. If her hair was pulled back and her pants weren't wrinkled, she considered it a good day.

She went through the entire day without one cup of coffee. Her own personal crack had lost all appeal. She drank it at first, it having some sort of attachment to him. Now, it was absolutely repulsive. Every coffee shop she past gave her nausea, her own coffee maker having been thrown down the garbage shoot ages ago.

It all lead back to being numb, her emotions and senses dulled; no need for coffee or sleep or realness. Just an empty shell of a women going through the motions.

This day in particular, she was in no mood to face work and her colleagues. The boys had grown increasingly worried, giving sideways glances and whispering when they thought she couldn't hear. She could, though, and although it stung, she knew they cared for her and her well being. At first, they would bring her coffee, but that made it hurt so much worse. She would sit in the break room looking over the cup and cry. Castle was the one who brought her coffee, not Ryan, and not Esposito. They avoided using his name, riding by bookstores, his building. They were extra careful in hopes that it would help her heal. She addressed them just weeks afterwards telling them to stop, saying she was fine. So they tried their best, but they were invested in the tragedy as well, just not as much.

So she had taken her time getting out of bed, the body wasn't going anywhere. She slumped out of the sheets and pulled on whatever. She left without eating, without checking her reflection, without caring, arriving at the crime scene minutes later. Her investigation was half assed, she could no longer look at the victims face without imagining it was him. So she let Lanie go over her observations, listening as best she could, avoiding the blood and horror. She told her team the usual crap; canvas the area, look for witnesses, get surveillance.

It was something she had never been able to do for Rick. He had been picked up by a driver that day for press. A typical, black SUV, standard for him. They were going to a book signing, nothing out of the ordinary. But they had gotten into an accident, crashed into an escalade, all passengers had been killed. They had never discovered what caused the crash, they couldn't. They didn't know who's fault it was, didn't know if it was a lack of attention on the road, didn't know if there had been suffering. It killed her knowing that she provided strangers and their families with justice and answers everyday, yet she couldn't even do it for her own husband. It made her sick, much like everything else did now a days. It was normal now.

She drove back to the precinct, her team arriving minutes later. Espo and Ryan were walking on eggshells around her, obviously sensing the worsening state of their partner. She knew they knew what was going on, the sleeplessness, the nightmares, the depression, but they didn't see that. They saw her appearance; she knew she should have at least brushed her hair this morning.

But honestly, did she care what they thought? What anybody thought? It wasn't like she was out to impress anyone. She could barely think straight let alone possess the feelings needed to experience embarrassment or self consciousness. All she felt was disconnect.

"Beckett?" Espo looked at her through concerned eyes. He had asked her a question or presented an idea, but she hadn't heard a word of it having been too lost in he own thoughts, as usual.

"I'm sorry, what?" She barely lifted her gaze, her mind still racing, but standing completely still.

Ryan spoke next, "Maybe you should take the rest of the day off." He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she flinched.

"I'm fine, let's get back to the case." She shot up, then, knowing she had to get something done and look somewhat normal to get them off her back. It was hard, but she could manage as long as she kept her eyes on the board.

It was hours later, the sky changing colors and the precinct having cleared out. They had followed a couple of leads and questioned two people. She did her best to be sharp in interrogation, tried to get everything out of the suspect, but Ryan did most of the talking. She hadn't even left the building that day, letting the guys do all the work. She just stared at the board, looking for leads, not physically following them. There were no far fetched theories or snide comments. There hadn't been for seven months. Something that had made her so mad at the beginning of their partnership was what she craved so badly now.

When her phone displayed the 'ONE NEW TEXT' logo, she wasn't prepared for whose name flashed before her eyes. She did a double take making sure she wasn't fooling herself. Her breathing hitched and her eyes widened. She hadn't seen or heard from her in months, her calls and texts dwindling after being ignored, giving up. Martha had tried for so long, but to no avail. Kate knew she just wanted to help, but seeing that woman and her granddaughter made it so hard, his image radiating off of them. She couldn't hide forever though, not from her own mother-in-law and step daughter. She felt guilty thinking about it; all the times she rejected calls and dinner invitations, her excuses painfully fake. But she wasn't ready, and Martha and Alexis had to understand that. He was her one and done, and she was done. Moving on was never an option for her, because he didn't chose to leave, and she hadn't let him go.

Her thumb lingered over the read button. She wasn't sure what would be inside. If it was a picture, it might cause her to go into panic mode right in the middle of the precinct. Seeing him was something she had to prepare herself for, and in private. If it were an invitation, she could make an excuse in a matter of minutes. Whatever it was, though, was not going to read itself.

Without another thought, she pushed READ, and again, was shocked by what she saw. She had to read the message several times before she processed the words. It was so unexpected:

"Dearest Katherine, if you could please come to the loft as soon as you can. We've found something we think you'd like to read. Please get back to me when you read this."

She wished that Martha would have told her what exactly she would be reading. Was it good? Was it bad? Would it help or hurt? She was going into this completely blind, not having any indication of what would be handed to her. But it had been seven months. Seven months since she's seen him. Seven months since he held her in his arms. Seven months since she was happy. Maybe it was time to face this, but then again, she was almost content with being numb. Numb meant no feelings, and no feelings meant getting through each day without dying from loneliness and devastation.

Before she could reason, though, she found herself in her cruiser, driving in the right direction, driving to his old home, her home, their home; driving to the loft.

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**xoxo**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi there! **

**Here'a chapter 4. I wrote this chapter in a way that I could finish it soon it write a sequel that I think could turn out really cool. That being said, reviews and thoughts would help me out a lot. Thank you so much for reading! **

**Enjoy!**

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She was greeted by the doorman when she arrived, the familiarity of it was like déjà vu. She had walked through those doors so many times, said hello to residents, lived and breathed the atmosphere. But now, it seemed to lack something; she couldn't put her finger on what it was, but she had a clue.

She didn't have to think twice about her movements. Up the elevator to the 6th floor, hang a right, and walk to the end of the hall. It wasn't until her hand was hovering over the door knob that she realized what was going on. She took a deep breath, her eyes darting back and forth. The last time she was here, and so many times before that, she would just walk in. She would set her keys in the little dish, and shrug her coat off into the closet. She would stride over to the kitchen, or flop onto the couch, or walk into her own bedroom and change in her own closet. This had been her home, and now, she didn't know what to do. Should she walk in? Should she knock? She still had her key, it having been left with her when she fled. Her thoughts tore back and forth in her head, she couldn't decide what was right, if there was a right way to go about a situation like so. She felt the numbness subside only for a second, being overpowered by shock. It was something new; she had been numb for so long, and feeling something instead of nothing was too strange to explain.

Before she let it get the best of her, she raised her fist and knocked three short thumps. She bit her lip and tapped her foot, anxiety washing over her. She should have given herself another minute to assess the situation. He wouldn't be in there, she wouldn't hear him, and it sucked. It made her heart hurt; so close to where she wanted to be, so far away from him.

Martha opened the door then, her hair, makeup, and jewels just as she remembered. A sad smile spread across her face. "Katherine, darling, please come in." Martha moved to the side signaling Kate to walk in, her movements as grand as ever.

She hesitated, but took a small step so that she moved through the door frame, positioning herself so she could see the entirety of the loft. She took another deep breath.

"Take your time dear." Martha placed a hand on her shoulder and moved to give her space.

She stood statue still, arms hanging at her sides. It was like being in a dream. Everything was so familiar, so comfortable; it was like coming home. But it was so foreign, just the same. The kitchen was illuminating, coffee brewing on the counter. It made her stomach churn. The living area was lit up as well, a cardboard box sat closed on the table. A large portrait of him, the one from his book jacket, the one displayed at the funeral, sat on an easel in the corner. His smile still making her smile after all this time, after everything.

The door to his office was shut. It took everything in her not to cry out. It was like a really good book ending, the back cover being shut, and left for something new. One door closing, another opening. A new chapter in life; a disgusting, heart wrenching one. She wondered how many people had been in there since the accident. How many people had gained access to their room, his office, their privacy? Or had it been closed ever since she left? Had she been the last one to be in the now sacred space? Was everything still in place, their things mixed and matched. Were they collecting dust, or had they been keeping up on housework? She had no voice to ask, scared of the answers.

She took two steps, and one more, going in the direction of the couch where Martha was sitting. She held two white envelops in her hand. Just then, Alexis walked down the stairs, an identical envelop in her hand. Her eyes were red. "Kate." Alexis breathed out, looking relieved. "You came."

Kate's eyebrows tightened, trying to figure out what was going on. Martha spoke, sensing the tension. "We found some things in the office. They were hidden in the bottom drawer. Alexis was going through it, and we found letters. There were only three. One addressed to each of us. Richard must have written them before..." She trailed off, not knowing how to finish her sentence. "I have your letter right here." Martha extended her arm, the paper drawing her in. She grabbed it as if it would disappear. "We'll give you some time." Martha ushered Alexis up the stairs quietly, the two having already read what was sealed inside of their own.

She sat on the couch, breathing in the space; it smelled like him, still. She flipped the envelop three times. She traced the edges. She smoothed her thumb over her name printed in the center; 'Kate'. She was ready.

She slid her thumb under the flap, running it under the seal. She removed the paper, unfolding it slowly and delicately as if it would break in half.

She breathed out a heavy breath at the sight of his handwriting. She hadn't seen it for seven long months. It had once appeared in their mail, on books, on the murder boards. Then, it had disappeared without warning, never being truly appreciated. And now, here it was again, out of the blue.

_Dear Kate,_

_I sit here and struggle with exactly what I want to say. I've already finished two prior to this, but you're so different, so special. I hope and pray to God that you and mother and Alexis never have to read these, but I have to write them just in case. I don't want to be gone, and never have the opportunity to say everything or act on everything that I want to. You've taught me not to take life for granted; it could be gone in the blink of an eye._

_I guess the best place to start is the beginning. When I met you, I was an ass, trust me, I know. Even with all the parties, and people, and fans, I wasn't happy. I hadn't been in a very long time. I had dug myself into a damp, dark hole. I wasn't in a good place. But then, you showed up at that release party, my lowest of lows, and I couldn't take my eyes off of you. And every day since then, I had the privilege of working with you and being with you. It still amazes me that you came into my life when you did. I needed a muse, inspiration, love, and I got everything I could ever want. You turned my life around. You made me want to be a better person, and stop being so childish. I turned into a different man, a better man, and that's all thanks to you. You changed my life for the better._

_I could never thank you enough for putting up with my antics, and letting me follow you around to crime scenes. Hell, you even let me follow you out to LA. I disobeyed you more times than I can count, leaving the car, and entering active scenes, tampering with evidence, and poking my nose into things I shouldn't. You were so patient with me, even if I didn't deserve it. I know how I am, and you accept that. So thank you for always letting me push you to your limits, and for always having my back; even though I've saved your life more times._

_Through everything, the number one thing I wish I could do is go back and make you my one and done. The day you told me that, I wanted more than anything to tell you I was the same way, but I couldn't, and I hate that. No one has ever meant more to me. My first two marriages were out of foolishness and immaturity. The only good thing to come from them was Alexis. You're my everything, my metaphoric one and done._

_In light of the circumstance, I want you to stay in the loft. I don't know what you would decide; I know you're more fight or flight. So I'm telling you, not asking you to stay or come back. This is your home, you're my wife, and this is your family. Please stay and try and enjoy it. Mother and Alexis are here, and I know you're here for each other. I would never want you all to be separated and alone without each other, without me. It would only make it ten times worse. They love you, and I know you love them as well._

_But no one could ever love you as much as I do. You're extraordinary. I've never met someone so beautiful and quizzical and fascinating. You're amazing. You're smart, and funny. You're sarcastic and playful. You're everything I could have ever imagined my life to be with someone. You're my better half. I could never express how much you mean to me, not with one million books._

_I hope that one day, somehow, someway, I'll see you again. Please don't be sad. Just remember that I love you._

_Always,  
Rick_

Kate had tears streaming down her face, his words crossing her vision over and over. She tried to take it in as fast and as many times as she could. Knowing these were his last words to her made her crave it so much more.

She heard footsteps coming down the stairs. the pair were quiet and alert. She quickly wiped her eyes, but fresh tears fell. She stood up, having to face the two people that truly related to her, the two people that understood. She had been so selfish, avoiding these people that she loved, distancing herself from those who were going through the same thing, who needed her. She couldn't hold it in any longer, guilt flooding her, "I'm so sorry I didn't call. I've just been so broken. I haven't known what to do, and I didn't know if I could handle seeing you. You're just so much like him, and I miss him so much. I'm just so sorry." She let the words tumble out, not caring that she was crying in front of them.

Martha and Alexis' eyes brimmed with tears at Kate's words. Finally, something had gotten through to her, something that could finally take away the darkness in her head and her heart. She could maybe find light, and have these remarkable people around her to help, and she would be there for them as best she could.

"Will you please stay at least tonight?" Alexis spoke to her, wiping her eyes.

It caught her off guard. The thought of seeing their room was paralyzing, but he had told her to stay, and she couldn't say no. It was a message to her from him, and anything that he could tell her now, even from a letter, was hard to resist. "I'll stay." She nodded, looking the two in the eye.

"You go ahead and make yourself comfortable. This is your house, and you know that." Martha pointed at her as if solidifying the statement.

"Okay." Kate's chin wobbled. 'Its not mine without him.' She couldn't help but think it, but not having the courage to voice it.

She made her way to the office, turning the knob, walking through his space, not being able to look just yet. That had been his prized spot, his getaway. She wasn't ready to tamper with it. So she stood in the doorway of their room, becoming completely overwhelmed. It looked just as it had when she left. The bed was made, their pillows stacked in the unique ways they slept. All their knickknacks, pictures, and clothes still sitting how they had been left. It was like going back in time. She tiptoed over to the bed, placing a hand on his side of the bed. It was cold. She sat, then, and looked around the room. She didn't realize how much she had missed it until now, how much she had craved to be back in this spot.

Her fingertips tingled, her head buzzing; everything that had happened today was finally catching up to her as she began settling into her place on his side of the bed. She moved the covers back gaining access. The sheets enveloping her like she was so familiar with. She breathed in deeply. The whole space smelled like him, reminded her of him, and his voice, and his personality. It was so much better than a drawer.

Only moments passed before she felt herself drifting off, everything around her relaxing her, making her feel safe and at home. It was the first time in a very long time that she felt okay. Not happy or moved on, she knew she would never be able to or want to move on, but she felt like at least for tonight, she could remember him in light, not dark.

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**Please review, especially about ending the story soon or writing a sequel! **

**xoxo **


	5. Chapter 5

**Hi there!**

**I believe this will be the final chapter of this story. I wanted to post this weekend, because I am returning to school and will not have as much time to write or post. I will, however, be posting epilogues to both "Gone" and "Together, Always" soon. I may even write extra chapters or some type of sequel to each. If I do, they will not be as frequently updated, but I will continue to post as often as I can.**

**Thank you for all the feedback, and please let me know what type of story you want to see next!**

**Enjoy!**

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It's the first time she's slept through the night in a long while, too long for her to remember. No dreams, no nightmares. Just a blank canvas of quiet. Nothing tugged at her heart or made her stomach flip. It's just her and the bed. She's completely engulfed in the comforter, taking long, slow breaths, pushing the material to her nose. She keeps her eyes closed, not sure if she wants to see the room. Imagining and smelling and being is enough for now. She can make it what she wants, make it seem better than it is, make it different than she's accustomed to. Her imagination is far better than reality.

She never thought she'd be in this bed again, never thought she would see his belongings and her things, mixed together until they were just _theirs_. She remembers the day like it were yesterday. She had left in a hurry. It was one maybe two days after his death. She couldn't bear to sit in the loft any longer, the emptiness and quietness suffocating her; it was horrifying how much her world had been turned upside down. The weight on her chest was crushing. The loft now seemed so unbelievably huge; too big just by removing one being. She thought she was going crazy, hearing his voice or a pair of footsteps that weren't actually there. It lead her to believe that he would come home that day, that it was a joke; she was in denial, still. But he never did walk through the door, never did ask what was for dinner, never did come to bed; never did. So she sat on the couch for a long while and when he never returned, she panicked. The sky had gone dark, and the city that never sleeps boomed. She had grabbed a bag, shoving things from random drawers, her thoughts in a million places all at once. When she thought she couldn't take it another second, she bolted, not bothering to leave a note or send a text, or grab all of her things. She just left and never looked back. She practically dove into her cruiser, the tears pouring out like two rivers; sad, lonely, and forever winding through life without a purpose.

She drove to her father's cabin, hiding from her problems and the pain of losing her husband. It was the only place she could think of that had no connection to him. Breaking ties was easier said than done, so she drank as much as she could, the pain and bone crushing sadness eventually blurring into unconsciousness. The very next day, she found an apartment, not caring about size or amenities or price, and had her things delivered from her storage unit. All she cared about was getting away from the loft, trying to get away from the images and memories that now haunted her. But she didn't want to forget, she couldn't.

She couldn't face the pain, though, either; that's how she justified leaving. It was easier than sitting in their room or eating in their kitchen. She rather be totally alone than be without him. Even if she were surrounded by everyone she ever cared about, the void of a tall, ruggedly handsome writer would make her want to quit all together. He was all she wanted.

But now that she was back, she couldn't imagine being any where else, didn't know how she'd done it for seven months. This seemed like the better option now, like it had always been the only option. She didn't want to get ahead of herself, though. She didn't know if this was just a side effect of the night, a high almost, making her feel good and comfortable. Making her believe that the last seven months of pain and numbness were for nothing. She didn't know if she stayed another night if she would wake up screaming like most others. They couldn't experience that, shouldn't have to. That was not something that Martha and Alexis should have to deal with along with losing him; they couldn't know how low she had gotten.

She felt her head start to pound more than usual, too many thoughts presenting themselves making her feel like she was losing control. She didn't want to lose it again, didn't want to run out again and hide, she didn't want to be so numb.

Kate jumped up, suddenly feeling trapped in the bed. She didn't bother changing, didn't want to wait for the paralyzing grip of her thought process to cause her to go over the edge; it had happened too many times for her to count.

Martha was in the kitchen standing over her breakfast. Coffee was brewing behind her. It was normal, comfortable even. But the hole in her heart burned and stung reminding her what was different. It reminded her of the bitter reality.

Besides the fact that she was female, she moved and acted just like him, it was scary. It made her heart hurt. She could only imagine what she would feel when Alexis walked down the stairs. She spoke like him, learned everything she knew from him; his whit, his charm, his uncanny ability to light up a room. But maybe, just maybe, it would give her a breath of fresh air. The familiar place could help. The people she still loved so much could work together in healing. She wanted that more than anything. Wanted to feel better, wanted to feel something other than numb. Her emotions had vanished, and now she longed for the days that she felt happy or scared or sad. She wanted to feel sorrow. She needed to feel again, she needed to get it together.

"Katherine, darling, would you like anything? A cup of coffee maybe?" Martha sauntered over and guided her back over to the kitchen. She placed Kate in a chair and shoved a cup in her direction, not waiting for an answer.

Kate looked at it, examined it as if it were a murder board. She found it repulsive but so inviting. Just a hint of him reaching for her with each wave of steam. Funny how a freaking cup of coffee reminded her of him; just about anything could. Her hand inched towards it, her finger tips wrapped around it. _Do it_. She lifted the cup to her lips and let it hover. She took one tiny sip and put it back down. _Baby steps._

"I really am sorry for not calling you. I've been so," she paused not knowing what to call her condition, "unstable. But I've been selfish. I didn't stop to think that you and Alexis were going through the same thing."

"You know, being with you made him very happy, happier than I'd seen him in a long time. And you became so much a part of this dynamic, when he was taken from us and when you left, Katherine, it was like losing two children. But, it doesn't have to be like this. Darling, I can see it in your eyes how much you're hurting. I know that you need us, and I need you, and Alexis most certainly needs you. I know what the letter said, and I, we, want you to stay as well." Martha touched her cheek and smiled.

"I was hoping you'd say something like that." Kate smiled, taking another sip from her mug. "I need you and Alexis. I need to be close with you, you're two of the most important people to me, and Martha, I can't explain how sorry I am that I left, it just hurt so bad. It still does." There she went again, blubbering and exploding, her emotions getting the best of her. This new found courage radiating off of her letting her express what she was feeling, tell what she needed. It felt good. It was as if the loft possessed an ability to seamlessly change her well being. It was strange but so inviting, so welcoming.

"Well no one here wants you to leave. Please tell me you'll stay."

This was it. This was the moment that could truly change her, start her healing process. She doesn't have to be alone. "Okay, I'll stay."

"You're staying?" She hears Alexis's shocked voice on the stairs, the young women having heard her answer.

Kate turned around to look her in the eyes. She had expected her to be angry, but she wasn't. She looked relieved. "Only if you want me to."

"Yes, please, please come back." Alexis whipped down the stairs and hugged Kate, her arms crushing her shoulders. "It's been so lonely." She whispered into her hair.

"You have no idea." Kate whispered back to her, sending a shudder down her spine, feeling the familiarity of the statement; the same thing she had said to him on their first case. One phrase, two polar opposite meanings.

Alexis pulled back and smiled at her, a truly happy and thankful smile. Kate's heart thudded loudly, the corners of her mouth turning up. An actual smile gracing her lips. It was for this opportunity, for these people, for him.

She would never, ever let him go; never in a million years. He was everything to her. He would never be gone, just not physically present. He was everywhere; she saw him and smelled him and thought of him. She could never forget, the loft signifying that, everything in it was him.

But she needed to feel better. She needed to not scream and cry and lash out. She needed to escape the torment of her nightmares. She needed to feel. The only way that would happen would be for her to do this, to live here and remember here. To come here day after day. To cook here and clean here. To get her spunk back here and her drive here. To come home.

So right there, in the middle of the loft, she nodded again, looking the redheads in the eye, confirming her decision that she would move back in. They engulfed her in a hug, chattering away about moving boxes. She was ready to feel and remember him in all the good and in all his glory.

Despite the lack of feeling, the pain, the crying, the sleepless nights, and sorrowful fits, something about being here just one night made her feel hopeful. She was one hundred percent ready. Ready to tackle her demons. Ready to chip away at her walls if only to get close to where she was before. Ready to feel better.

Because even though he was gone, she didn't have to be. She could to this, for him.

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**Please review!**

**xoxo**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi there!**

**Here's the epilogue. I'm pretty happy with how it turned out, and I hope you all have enjoyed the story. I hope to have the epilogue to "Together, Always" written shortly, and to be writing new stories soon. Thanks for all your reviews, favorites, and follows. Be sure to look out for new stories and sequels.**

**Enjoy!**

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Three more months have passed since that morning in the loft. She's slowly but surely moved back in. With each box and package, she can feel the pain disintegrate. She can look around and want to stay put, want the solidity of home. She likes the normalcy of it, how it makes her feel safe, protected.

She's found some kind of rhythm, a dance of sorts. She follows it day by day knowing that it keeps her going, gives her the drive to continue on. The pieces have been picked up and glued, taped, and smashed together the best she can manage. She knows where she is, knows where she's going. She wants to go to work and solve cases. And then she wants to come home and see her girls. Wants to talk about the day and open up. Wants to let them in. So she takes it one step at a time, knowing some days will be better than others. Some days will hurt, and some days will help, but either way, she's getting through it.

She's begun to feel comfortable in the loft, the familiarity of it helping to ease her mind. She can crawl into bed and smell his oh so familiar scent, the one that she held onto so tightly. It's everywhere here, and it's what she craves. Such a small piece of him; she'll take all the pieces she can get. She knows she's home. Knows that this place is where she needs to be. Her apartment had never been home. It was a hiding spot from all things that made her freeze up. But she wasn't hiding anymore.

It's taking time; many hours of thinking and talking and crying. Time once controlled parts of her, making her think that things happened only to cause pain, to rush things, and to overlook emotion. But now, she knows that time is precious. Every minute spent with him was now sacred, and every moment she thought of him was a moment she hadn't had before. Time was always of the essence. Time still rules the world and it's people.

There was a major difference she had to get used to when she moved back. Unlike her candid picture ritual, they had framed pictures of him everywhere. All the moments that told his story, their story. She had to prepare herself the first few times she entered the loft, just one look too long could set her off sending her into a downward spiral. But she took a deep breath, counted to five, and opened her eyes.

The photos were of memories and moments with her and before her. But either way, they all reminded her of him, they were all special. There was one of them on a vacation in the Hamptons. One of him and Martha on the same day. Him and Alexis on her graduation day. All four of them on the wedding day. They were all smiling, all happy, all unaware of the future. But once she got past it, she loved seeing them. When she agreed to move back in, it was something she knew she had to take it in stride. So she would look at them, remember the good times and try to put on a brave face. She was doing this for her sanity, for him. She wanted to do everything now for him.

One photo stood out to her in particular. It was a black and white canvas hung over the fireplace. It was of her and him in a white dress and a black tux. They stood forehead to forehead, smiles on their faces showing the significance of the day. She often times stares at it, touches it, closes her eyes and imagines that moment. She never wants to forget what loving someone that much feels like.

She'd be lying to herself if she said it didn't hurt. The pain in her chest is tolerable; the hollowness and flames that consume her are manageable. She deals with it as it presents itself. She tries to ignore the pain most days, but others she must wallow in it. Either way, she's trying. She knows this is something that she will live with for the rest of her life. The void could never be filled by anyone but him. But with each passing day, the panic and anxiety and nervousness continue to ease up. She's eating again, talking, trying to be a better Kate. She's doing everything she can to try and be better. It's the only way for her to go on and not fall back into a never ending hole of sadness.

She's no longer numb and blind. She can feel, let's emotion inside of her, expresses herself. She has the ability to think for herself, no longer at war with the millions of thoughts and questions fighting for her attention. She's handling it. She can look at Martha and Alexis and remember him for all the good. Hearing them and speaking to them remind her that he's always here in one way or another. She can walk down the street without being flooded with emotion, the newspapers and books and magazines having died down. But now when he does pop up unexpectedly, she turns her head, and looks at him. She smiles. Then she continues on with her day. Practice makes progress.

She's never missed someone so much. Never longed to see someone again, even for just a second. He was everything she could have ever dreamed of. And now, that's exactly what she does. She dreams of him and all the good that came from them. All the good times and the bad; now, to her, they're all good.

She reads the letter daily, sometimes multiple times, depending on what kind of day she's having. The paper is warn; the edges soft and creases wrinkled. She takes her time, imagines him speaking the words. Imagines him writing it, sitting at his desk. She hangs on every last word, craving it. When she gets to the end, the last two words, _Always, Rick_, she smiles, "Always." And once she finishes, she folds it back up carefully, returns it to the envelop, and hides it in the drawer in her bedside table.

On this day in particular, she's sitting on the couch reading the paper, not having to worry about work until she gets the call, when that feeling washes over her. That unexplainable need to go to that place on the hill filled with cold granite. She knew it, and dreaded it, and hoped for it all at once. She had had it three times prior, each leading her down a path of hellish nightmares and panic stricken days. But this time, she embraced it. It's been one whole year since he's been gone. One whole year since he was taken from earth, taken from his family. So she knew she had to go.

She drives in a blur just like always. She parks far away, needing the time to relax her nerves and prepare her heart. It doesn't take long until she's standing in front of it, her breath automatically stops and tears form in her eyes. She sits in front of his big, intricate stone, trying to find her words.

"Richard Edgar Alexander Rodgers Castle  
1969-2015  
Loved, Always"

"I moved back. I'm trying so hard to get my life back. I want to feel okay, but it's hard when you're not here. Sometimes all I want to do is tell you about my day, but I can't. And I can't hug you or kiss you or anything. I don't want to say I took you for granted, but I took our time together for granted. And I regret that so much."

She stopped for a second, her words just tumbling out, no rhyme or reason to them; anything she thought needed to get out before she forgot it.

"I always look at that portrait of you and me on our wedding day, the black and white one. I remember right after the photographer took that, you looked at me and said, "There's no where in this entire world I'd rather be with right now. You make me so happy. I love you, Kate." and it was just so perfect. It was the best day of my entire life. You always made me so happy."

She paused again, this time looking up into the sky.

"I think about you all the time, every single day. And I read your letter so much. I just miss you so much, it still hurts. But I'm trying. You said in the letter not to be sad, but it's hard not to be. I'm, I just,"

By this point, she had tears running down her face. She stared right at the stone, trying to get everything out that she needed to.

She whispered, "I can't believe it's been a year, Rick. It seems like it's been a million. It seems like it's been a day. Sometimes I don't even know how long it's been because that's how much I miss you. I wish that you were here. But I'm going to keep coming back. I'm going to come every week from now on. I'm sorry it's taken me so long, but I was so lost, I'm still lost without you. I'm taking it day by day."

She stood up, wiped her eyes, and bent over his stone. She kissed the top like always, "I love you." Kate turned around and walked back to her car. She made her way back home, the loft empty for the evening. Just her and her thoughts.

She tried to eat, but finally, exhaustion won. She made it to the bed, scared of what was to come. She drifted off, trying to think of only the good times, the happy memories. Tonight, for the first time after one of her visits, she dreamt of good and not bad; light and not dark.

_It was that day, their wedding day. She heard a flash and then realized it was the moment she remembered so well just after the picture was taken. It was sunset, the early September sun providing enough warmth for the perfect outdoor ceremony. They were off by themselves taking pictures, that particular one being the final one before the reception. They were alone after that, the photographer going to set up her things elsewhere._

_"There's no where in this entire world I'd rather be with right now. You make me so happy. I love you, Kate."_

_She reached up and touched his face, both looking into each other's eyes like no one else mattered, "I love you too, Rick."_

_He kissed her then, making her feel like she was living a fairy tale. It was everything she had ever wanted and more. It was something she could cherish and dream about for the rest of her life._

She going to be okay, she would keep trying, and keep visiting, and keep remembering. She would never lose him.

Her one and done, her partner, her everything.

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**Please review!**

**xoxo**


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